Hairband : A Short Scoop

Hairband

Heavy rain was washing the highway and coloring it with a brand-new life. The sound of rain onto the car’s windshields composed natural symphonies. Trees alongside the road were already into their
original wardrobe. The traditional green. Sometimes you get out of adjectives to describe the way this
color struck your nerves. Or maybe nature never wanted itself to be described- in human language.

01

With that precious (Yeah, girls tend to love it more than anything else. And when it’s the last, its nothing
less than their only kid) hair band, she tied her playful long hair behind. She somehow managed to get
hold of her hairs playing on her face. I cursed the stupid wind coming through her side of the window.
Basically whatever disturbed her in 7 years of our married life, was among one of my arch-enemies.
Our toddler on the back seat was busy focusing on the chocolate wrapper in her hand. I cried inside.
Bachha look out. This is the first time you are experiencing such an amazing weather with “jab koi baat
bigad jaaye..jab koi mushkil pad jaaye..” on the radio. She was probably in love with her Shmitten.
Anyway I was glad, because someone, whom I called as my Shmitten, now had rested her head on my
shoulder. PERFECTO!!!!

It was a heavy downpour. Those teenage prayers I had were all set to come true. DRIVE IN RAIN-EMPTY
ROAD-A BEAUTIFUL WIFE-A DAUGHTER-and-A LIFE!!!
“I think we should stop somewhere until the rain calms, Sushant”, Swara lowered the radio volume and
said that in the softest voice she could. “Or maybe we should enjoy these and make a memory”, I pulled
out paper-wrapped Pakodas from the backseat and handed them over to her. She nearly jumped from
her seat with joy, kissed me on my earlobe and diverted all her focus on those Pakodas, which I took at
the last Dhaba we had stopped. She curled herself on her seat and ate them one by one, just like our
daughter who was still licking the hell out of her Shmitten wrapper.  “LIKE MOTHER, LIKE DAUGHTER” no
one said ever.

02
“Hamee tumse pyaar kitna ye hum nahi jaaanate..magar.. ”,the radio did his best to add to the charm of
the situation. I lowered the volume when I saw Swara was humming with it. Rain on the other hand was
turning insane. I turned and looked at the backseat to make sure my daughter wasn’t feeling cold. But
she was already into her deepest sleep. I wondered how kids look so satisfied with their life whenever
they sleep???  Swara took a baby-blanket out of her huge purse and covered her with it. I saw the way
her smile widened in her sleep. I wished everyone in my office was as satisfied and happy as that baby
was then.
Life suddenly seemed gratified. The feeling was eternal. Something every human being would have ever
dreamed of.
But…
I heard a thud on the front right wheel of our car. I immediately pulled over. “Take this and cover your
head for god sake”, Swara widened her eyes and handed me a towel as I was about to get out. I stared
at her purse as it even managed to occupy the complete towel inside it.
Purses and women have a lot of things in common. They hold a lot and yield stuff at the right time. That
must be another reason why women loved and carried their purses with them. ALL.THE.TIME. Women
shared bond even with every heck of a lifeless thing.
I covered my head with the towel and got out of the car in the safest way I could. The heavy rain was
piercing in my back. When I looked down, I saw the second saddest thing of my life (The first one was
watching my dead dog Steve after returning from school when I was 7y/o).The tire was badly punctured.
Eventually it turned me into the most grief-stricken person on this planet.

03
I was about to get back into the car to open the backseat, to look out for a spare tire. I was hit hard on
my head.  I fell on my face in the heaviest rain of my life. I could clearly listen to Swara crying out my
name even though the rain was at its loudest. I managed to turn myself on the road. Four armed men
(Faces covered) were standing around me. They were all shouting in some weird slang. Swara tried
getting out of the car but one of them caught her with her hairbun. I couldn’t control my tantrum. I
gathered all my courage to get up and save her but this time one of them blew my leg with a gunshot. I
saw my blood mixing with every drop of the rain falling over me. I cursed the rain as it appeared to help
my body lose more and more blood. And I fainted!!!
“Mr Shushant.. are you okay?? They were all terrorists. Hiding in the jungle besides the highway.  The
cops reached for help in less than 10 mins. Your daughter was unharmed”, the interviewer said and
managed to calm me down. “Yeah, but they couldn’t find my wife!” I smiled at the interviewer as that
sentence of her had already filled me with enough courage which I had recorded in my mind since 10
years of that incident.
“I’m really sorry for whatever happened Mr.Sushant. ”, she said that by wiping her tears. “Yeah that’s
okay.  Melancholy did never manage to hit me. As I named my daughter Swara… and….”
“And Mr. Sushant??” the interviewer moved to the edge of her chair.
“And I must be the only man to preserve this HAIRBAND for 10 years now!!”.

 

Author: Saurabh Malge

 

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